


Morning, Remus

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble, Ficlet, Second War with Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-31
Updated: 2009-07-31
Packaged: 2018-10-27 16:32:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10812738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: wakes up in a strange bed and is reminded why he swore off OgdensWritten for the Imagination Inspiration Drabble DriveInspiration...Morning, Remus by LizardSpots





	Morning, Remus

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

There were bunnies everywhere.  Not that he had anything against bunnies, mind you—they were sort of fun to watch scampering around the zoo, though they had a tendency to wreak havoc on his pathetic garden. 

These, however, were a different story, because they were scampering in his head.  The pleasantly sunny meadow he’d been lying in but a moment before was now too bright, too noisy and filled with the stupid creatures.  He wanted to tell them to go away, to threaten them with the numerous times the wolf had tried to assuage his gnawing hunger with some of their relatives, but when he opened his mouth to speak, no sound could move past his parched throat.  It felt as though cotton filled his mouth.  Probably some of the damn bunnies’ tails, but why would he have eaten one of those?  It wasn’t even close to the moon.

He did wish they would go away.  Reaching out, he tried to bat away the nearest one, but his hand only came in contact with air, and then a pillow.  Odd, that, unless…

With strength he didn’t know he possessed, he opened first one eye, then another.  And then he blinked.  Which sort of hurt, when his eyes were as dry as they were and his head was throbbing.

Bed hangings.  His bed didn’t have curtains.  He hadn’t had hangings around his bed since…well, two years, at least.  His quarters behindthe Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.  Best bed he’d ever had.  Warm and soft and cozy and…

But this, this was definitely not his bed.  Soft, yes, cozy, yes, and the sheets were divinely silky against his bare skin. 

His completely bare skin. 

Not a bit of faded tartan flannel to be seen.

What the devil?

He sat up, and the sudden motion made his head feel worse, if that were possible.  

Throb. 

Throb. 

Wince.

Wince.

He rubbed at his eyes, trying to work out where he was and how he’d got there.   

Just on the edge of his blurred vision, he got a clue in empty the bottle of Ogden’s finest—tipped over on the nearby night table, propped against a couple of mismatched glasses.

Well, that, perhaps, explained the headache.  And possibly the nudity.  

Where had he gone the night before? 

This wasn’t like him; he didn’t drink, usually, not more than a glass of wine, and certainly not Ogdens, which even if he could afford it tended to leave him with a raging headache that lasted for hours the next day.  

Not unlike this morning, actually. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to remember the evening before. Blackouts unrelated to his condition were rare, but not unheard of--they had happened a time or two before, back when Sirius was...

But best not to think about that, probably.  

Order Meeting.  Arrangements for protecting the students.  Hints from Dumbledore about a special mission just for him.  A toast or two in Emmeline’s memory.    Molly’s onion soup, which had been heaven.  And a cake, wasn’t there?  A small cake, with twenty-some-odd candles, frosted in pink.

Pink.

And then it hit him.   He was at Grimmauld Place, but not in his own bed. 

And he was in serious, serious trouble.

“Morning, Remus.”

“Good morning, Nymphadora.”

            


End file.
